


Poems for Rhyme and Reason

by Hime2461



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Pining, Poet Derek "Nursey" Nurse, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hime2461/pseuds/Hime2461
Summary: Three poems Nursey writes and doesn't show Dex.





	Poems for Rhyme and Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honeysuckers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysuckers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rhyme and Reason](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083472) by [honeysuckers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysuckers/pseuds/honeysuckers). 

### “Fireside.”

> _(But when he sees the poem pulled up on his laptop, he’s written about fire and rough hands, about electricity and red hair. And Nursey knows he’s screwed.)_

Sometimes I think about my living room, and miss it.  
I think about the fireside, and its glowing embers--  
the orange glow that hugs my toes and whispers warmth into my skin.  
I think about the plush rug that softens my edges,  
cradles me as I’m wrapped up in the familiar embrace of my favorite blanket.  
Sometimes I think about my living room, and wonder how it would feel if you were in it.  
I think about your red hair burning brighter by my side as we bask in the comforts of my home--  
your rough hands that gently electrify me from the inside as they wander through the planes of my body.  
I think about the reach of your arms and the broadness of your chest,  
how I’m not one to feel small but I sure feel safe under your massive breadth.  
Sometimes,  
I think about my living room and miss it.  
But mostly I think about you,  
and wonder at how perfectly you fit into something I miss so bad,  
when I’ve never had you at all.

### “Morning Practice.”

> _(Nursey wants to swat his hand away so he can focus, or climb into Dex’s lap and kiss him, but he’s writing about the way the early morning sun caught on Dex’s hair at practice this morning, so he does neither.)_

Morning practice is an exercise in restraint.  
There’s a small window,  
in which the skates are on, but the helmets are not,  
where I can catch the way the morning light  
bursts upon the crown of your head,  
and all I want to do is reach out and see what it feels like.  


Morning practice is an exercise of the brain.  
Would it burn to the touch?  
(does it feel as explosive as the morning sun makes it out to be?)  
Is it softer than expected?  
(the permanent furrow in your brow says **KEEP AWAY** but the sleepy look in your eyes is so inviting)  
Will it cool the tips of my fingers?  
(is it too much to ask the world to let a touch cool the fires of my skin when I think of you at night?)  


Morning practice is an exercise in futility.  
It’s supposed to be where my muscles get a work out  
and where my energy gets a little expended--  
keep me in shape enough to weather the games to come.  
All it does is remind me of your soft morning voice that’s deep enough to drown me,  
show me how good we are together--  
how good we could be together--  
A hope I’m not sure I’m supposed to have.

### “Perspective.”

> _He knows the poem she’s talking about, knows how he wrote about the nurturing aspects of fire, how half of it was written while watching Dex at practice._

People think of fire and they think about how hot it burns when you try to touch it.  
They think about how it hurts to look at if you linger too long at the curves of it.  
They think about how menacing it is, how dangerous and wild it is.  
And they’re right.  
Until they see the embers that are too soft for earth,  
that float up into the sky as far as they can reach.  
Until they see how it takes the notes of broken hearts and shattered pieces of bone  
and cradles them into its embrace—make it part of something bigger.  
Until they see how it lights up the night and keeps the terrors at bay,  
comforts you in the darkness and whispers wordless lullabies in your ear.  
Until they see that if you just treat it right,  
it’ll feed you and keep you warm and protect you from the dangers of the world.  
Until they see that fire is the breath of the heart,  
keeps me warm on the ice,  
makes me pies in the night,  
wakes me with the warmest of kisses,  
takes the pieces that hurt and melts them away.


End file.
